


Belching

by jynx



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynx/pseuds/jynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders has sides that his family hasn't seen before and it is a little shocking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belching

**Author's Note:**

> ....I wanted manly, ball-scratching, belching, stubbled, icky-like man!Anders. He's so well groomed he just has to have a few "fuck it" days.

Anders got out of bed and stretched, hands flopping down at his sides before reaching up and scratching idly at his belly before making his unsteady way to the bathroom. He did his business, giving it one last shake, and idly snapped at the elastic of his boxers. Lazy boxers. Well-loved, lazy, and absolutely fugly boxers. He thought Dawn might have given it to him as a revenge gag gift--they were bright neon yellow with “Warning, Toxic Gas” signs all over them--since there was no one else who possibly would give him gifts any other time.

Yes, it had to be Dawn. She was excellent that way.

He leaned into the mirror, baring his teeth and then sucking on them as he debated his chin. Screw that. He shrugged and ambled into the living room and flopped out on the couch, kicking at the pillows and getting comfy by forcibly beating his couch into submission. He reached out and just snagged the remote, managing to turn the TV as the remote fell to the floor with a clatter. It was set to football so he was fine. He was totally ready for the day to pass as such--him in his boxers, on the couch, his fish chilling behind him, the TV tuned to football, and probably pizza and beer later--but he heard the phone ringing and scowled.

He stretched out and rolled off the couch, falling to his knees. He stumbled, whacking his knee, over to the phone. He snatched it out of the cradle and, trying very hard to be smooth, answered:

“Anders Johnson speaking.”

“Get to the bar,” Mike said shortly.

Anders’s shoulders immediately hunched. Of course it was Mike. Of course. It was a freaking weekend, sacred, his time and his freaking.. Anders tried not to grit his teeth and rolled his shoulders back. “It’s Saturday.”

“I’m aware. Get to the bar. We’ve got things to discuss.” And with that, Mike hung up.

Anders bitterly wished Bragi worked on his brothers. Making Mike do the chicken dance down the streets of Auckland proclaiming what an epic douche he was would be worth whatever Mike would do to him afterwards. With a huff and a groan, Anders dragged himself off to the bathroom to get back into the guise of Anders Johnson, Public Relations Genius.

:::

It ended up being a worthless meeting of hashing out what to do about the Frigga. Absolutely nothing more than that. No reason for him to be there except that Mike clearly liked that he had a minor gift at twisting Anders’s arm into doing what he wanted. As usual.

Anders kept his face blank as he drank his beer and watched his family. He hated them. All of them. Well, maybe not Ty. Well. No, he hated Ty too sometimes. Sometimes being the keyword. He couldn’t stand the whole lot of them. He was, and always would be, better than them. They were all too scared to live, Ty and Axl having long ago been beaten down by Mike.

Anders had gotten away. He had, and was, living his life. Yeah, maybe there were things missing but at least he only answered to himself.

He leaned against the bar, setting down his empty bottle and watching Mike with narrowed eyes until the elder gave him another cold bottle. He twisted the cap off and tossed it in a way so it slid straight down the bar to the other end. He quirked a tiny smile, amused by the simple gesture, and took a deep drink.

Axl and Zeb were at the other end, each trying to outdo the other in a belching contest. Zeb was currently doing his best to burp the alphabet but really lacked the deep-belly expulsion that would lead to winning the contest. Axl was too busy laughing like a buffoon to really get his competitive edge going.

How was he even related to these people?

Anders drank half his bottle in one go, watching Axel and Zeb go at it again, and then sucked in a tiny bit of air. He felt it bubbling up and, instead of swallowing it down, he let it out. It was loud enough that all of his brothers and Olaf had turned to stare at him in stunned silence.

“And that is how you win in,” Anders said. He set his beer bottle down and pushed away from the bar. “Don’t call me on the weekend again unless Axl’s dead.”

And with that he walked out, hands in his pockets, trying not to smirk at his sense of victory. It wasn’t very often he got the last word in or stunned his family into silence. And he had just done both. Excellent.

And now it was time to crawl back into his comfortable boxers and do nothing.


End file.
